


Mate

by astr0cat



Category: Hell's Kitchen (US TV) RPF, Kitchen Nightmares RPF
Genre: Except by you, F/M, He doesnt like being called mate, Just fuck me up now, Thanks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astr0cat/pseuds/astr0cat





	Mate

“Bunch of fuckin’ goons.”

It was hard to force the smirk down, the bastard threatening to bubble up as you watched your significant other bustle around the kitchen. Letting out a quiet snicker, you shifted your hips, standing lazier than the previous minute. Stance now slack, you scrubbed at a pile of pots, the kitchen having gone scarce of the items all too suddenly for your liking.

The blonde glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a grumbled out sigh slipping past his lips.

Pausing in his actions, he turned sideways in order to face you. Opening his mouth to speak was all he could do before a brunnette waltzed up to him.

“What do you want me to do with these, mate?” the man questioned, hand motioning towards a bowl of delectable goods. The chef instantly whirled around on the man, temper rising from the depths of hell itself.

“For the last three hours you have been calling me 'mate’,” his tone was sharp, he was far past his boiling point, poison practically slipping through his teeth as the venom flowed. It was all you could do to hold your amusement in as the targeted brunette spat out another glob of foolishness.

“Why are you so chippy?” Gordon asked, words just seconds away from interrupting the man. Honestly you felt a tad of remorse for experiencing amusement at this situation. Then again the chefs had refused to let you work in the kitchen, refused your experienced work in the culinary professions, and had tasked you with scrubbing the dirtied and rusted pots and pans of the diner.

“I'm not chippy, mate,” the smaller chef replied, brown eyes glowering up at the blonde.

That was it, that was all it took before your beloved let his rage seep through the air in tremendous waves, anger swimming around the brunnette.

“Gordon! It would be greatly appreciated if, for the next twenty minutes, Gordon.” With each word stated, the chef made a choppy movement with his hand, punctuating each and every sound with a flick of his wrist. Silently you turned your gaze over to the pair, orbs taking in the way the blonde’s muscles tensed with fury and agitation. Biting your lip in a grand attempt to conceal your noticeable smirk, which was far from hidden, did not go unnoticed by the chef.

Milliseconds passed before his blue eyes regretfully tore away from your gaze. Continuing to bathe the saucepans, you kept your gaze steady on his, orbs trailing over every enraged detail. His features had calmed when he had aimed his sight at your form, though now his angered expression had once again returned to the brunnette the raw hatred had come back from the dead.

“I'm not your fucking mate!” Suddenly he was upon you, the displeasure evident in the air as the blonde motioned over to you. “The only human allowed to call me fucking 'mate’ is this lovely lady over here! Do not call me fucking 'mate’!” 

The brunette that once was subject to the previous vexation only minutes ago nodded in affirmation before turning away, chocolate eyes glaring at you. Gordon snapped his fingers causing the man to return his eyes back to the man. “And don't you dare fucking glare at my wife, don't you fucking dare.”

Nodding once again, the less experienced chef turned once more, sparing you a quick scowl before quickly stepping away from the blonde's station and relocating himself into his own area.

By the looks of Gordon's expression you could swear that he was sending telepathic threats of death to the man, irises seemingly aflame. You watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose, an irritated sigh escaping him. 

Grabbing the hand towel before you, you ran your hands among the fabric. You paused, eyes squinting in disgust, “what…?” Turning the cloth in order to see the upside of it, you grimaced in revolt, “the hell…?”

A gentle British accent was strung out through the air, “what is it, darling?” Footsteps were emitted by the chef before he was at your side, hands plucking the towel from your fingers, “look at that...what a fucking disgrace.”

Clinging to the dampened fabric was an assortment of mold, all varying in multiple arrays of color. Dust, stains, along with other unhygienic substances littered the towel, only more continuing to be discovered the longer it was inspected.

Face scrunching up in disgust, he flung the stained cloth onto the sink, “wash your hands, darling.” Nodding you did as suggested, washing your palms before drying them on your jacket, body turning to the direction of your husband. Silently watching as the man bustled about, scrutinizing each and every other towel he passed, you fiddled with your thumbs. “Fucking disgusting…”

Flinging the acquired molded cloths into the sink was all the man did before washing his hands, eyes trained on you while he spoke, “horrendously abominable isn't it?”

There was a moment of grumbles before his hands retreated from the running faucet, which he quickly switched off before drying his hands on his chef's jacket. Placing his hands on his hips and letting his eyes slip closed, he released a stress filled exhale.

Not knowing what to say to unravel the annoyance, you let your actions speak for you. Quietly you brought your hands up to his shoulders, your form resting in front of him. Tenderly you let your fingertips graze his sides before wrapping your arms around his torso, head flush against his chest. The chef's palms soon migrated to your shoulders, limbs pulling you closer into the embrace.

“Thank you, darling,” his voice rumbled within the confines of his chest, the vibrations hitting your ear in the most soothing of ways. Glancing up with doe eyes, you spoke, “gimme a kiss?” A playful smirk bloomed upon his face and he turned his head to the side, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Please? I'm begging you,” upon the last word, the blonde leaned down and placed a quick, sweet smooch upon your lips. Smiling and chasing his tender touch was all you could do as he pulled away.

Gordon turned away from you in order to face the kitchen but at the last minute decided different, leaning down and placing his mouth upon yours, affection radiating off of him in waves. By the time he retreated you were scarlet, cheeks a burning amber. 

“I love you, darling,” came his soft accent, eyes twinkling with adoration, “or should I say 'mate’?” A laugh escaped him, your sweet giggle soon following. Kissing his cheek one last time, you shooed him away to get back to the kitchen, saving his food from burning. “You are an enormous goof, Gordon,” you said through a simper, your words being met by an amused reply. “Goof? Is that the best you can come up with?” 

You shook your head before striding over to his side, arms crossed as you watched his hands work with the food. “I could do better but I wouldn't want to injure your delicate feelings,” your eyes gleamed with mischief as his cyan orbs flicked up to yours. “Is that so? I think those are just excuses,” a broad smile claimed his features as he returned his gaze to the meal he was preparing.

“Excuses?” A hum left your lips before a string of words rolled off your tongue, “well, mate, I think you're a silly, unreasonable fool,” the chef cast a confused look at you. You held up your hand in order to finish, “you're the biggest love fool I know, far from salvation. Hopeless one might say,” you finished with a beam.

You watched as his face scrunched up in gaiety before an arm was thrown around your waist, dragging you flush against his side. With his free appendage, he stirred the items within the steaming pot, lips coming down to kiss your hair, “i'd say i'm near bloody damnation, absolutely irredeemable.”

Once again a hum resounded from your voice box as you leaned up to peck his cheek one last time, “likewise.” Smiling brightly up at him, you leaned further into his one armed embrace, “I love you too, Gordon.”


End file.
